The Two Dragons
by Scintillula
Summary: I am forever watching two great beasts engage in midair battle, wondering why and how they came to be this way, and completely stunned by the beauty and power of it.


**New story, and I swear if someone trys to steal this I will be pissed off. **

**The Two Dragons **

I glance up, and see that there are two beasts in the sky. They fight each other, but they do not kill, they only wound each other. They are gray and red, their tattered, black wings allow them to circle, if for only one last time, and find their opponent. Do they even pause to think? Why do they fight? I see only the light of battle, the glimmer of bloodlust in their eyes. They aim to kill, that is for certain, but it seems they cannot. I wonder how long they have had this airborne war. Does it not tire them? How can one be filled with so much hate? They slash and claw and bite, and yet neither seems to weaken.

There is something peaceful about this. Like this is all they have ever done and all they will ever want to do. As if there is no greater joy in the world to them then to fight the other. They weave and twist, and just as it seems one has the other pinned, they slip away, unharmed. They do not care if it rains or snows or if the winds rage around them. They pay no attention to anyone or anything but each other. There long, sleek bodies flip and curve, their tails lash and teeth snap inches from the other. Yet they show no fear, both are confidant in their own abilities, in the fate of their win.

At one time, perhaps, they did not fight. Before they knew each other, I suppose. They both seem to want to prove that they are the stronger, the cleverer of the two. At what point did they meet and begin this endless battle? Were they created to fight each other? I do not know these things, but it seems that way. Will one ever win, the other submit? I have wasted all my years watching these two, and I know that one would have to be dead, and that they would never back down from this challenge. They do not tire, they do not pause their endless warring to eat or to rest, and their desire to kill, to win, appears never to diminish.

It has steps, their battle, almost like a dance. It is a graceful, beautiful thing, their fighting. They hiss and claw and there is blood, and when their forms melt together in a whirl of scales and flashing eyes even I cannot tell one from the other. It is almost as though they are a single entity, battling with itself. Rejecting some knowledge, some feeling. The battle is almost a distraction, though it consumes their lives. A beautiful, tragic thing to watch, but it is impossible to stop. I cannot tear my eyes away, even for a moment; it is too powerful a thing. They destroy mountains and cities in their fighting, yet they pay no head to the destruction they cause. They have eyes only for the other, and even as the world ends they will be fighting.

It is as though they are blind; they are seeing nothing of the world around them. If one moves, the other will match it in a heartbeat, though if the sky were torn in two they would not flinch. The world changes, the setting they battle in, and they stay the same. They barely seem to see each other; it is as if they focus on something so monumental that they could never bear to be away from it. It is as if they were blind and now could see, though I cannot tell what it is they always seem to sense around them. Is what they see too much to take, really too much to accept? I know now that they see something, though if both are sensing the same thing I may never know.

Sometimes they make sounds that are close to language. They curse, I suppose, for all their taunting is filled with hate and desire. They scream at each other, sometimes wordless cries, at other times a slur of incomprehensible words. No matter what one says, it does not cause either to lessen, to weaken in their resolve. The words are like a constant fuel, a reason to keep fighting. At times it seems like taunting, at others, like an apology. They always hiss or scream or make these harsh dragon words, the meaning unclear even to one such as I who have watched them for as many years as the moon has pushed and pulled the waves.

Sometimes I wonder at what they are fighting for, how can something be so moving as to fuel a cause for eternity? They fight as if there resolve is strengthened with each passing breath. Their forms are stained red with blood, though if it is their own or the others I doubt they remember. They fight with a similar style, a lurching, slinking kind of back and forth, weaving back and forth in some sort of dance-like war strategy. I have noted one difference between the two, one pushes, the other pulls. One draws near, the other whips away and lashes back. One curves around and around, the other dodges and comes in from behind. One evades and then attacks, the other comes in close for an easy kill and leaps away. One would teach to avoid and then strike when the opportunity presents itself. The other would say to come in close and strike quickly than double back. They are almost like opposites, though far too much the same to be true opposites.

They circle around each other, orbiting like twin planets, drawn like magnets. What they see in the other is what they see in themselves, and they hate the other for being so similar. Once upon a time they were the only one, the smartest, strongest, best. Now there is another in their way, and they might have had others to prove to at one time, but now they only try to prove to themselves and maybe to the other that they are the better of the two. Forever they will battle, trying to outwit the other, and always failing because there can never be a true winner. And I will watch this beautiful, terrible dance forever, never truly part of the picture. Never seen by those who only see the other. Never seen by the two eternally battling dragons.

**Yes, in case you were wondering, I did put this story outside the POV of the two dragons for a reason. Its to give you a more objective POV, and a very different story.**


End file.
